


The End of the World

by kurtcouper



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 08:35:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5241764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurtcouper/pseuds/kurtcouper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Spike. I know-You probably don't know who I am, or rather remember who I am, but I just-I never got to say goodbye the last time, in Sunnydale, so I want to say goodbye now." Or Dawn realizes where she wants to be when her world ends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End of the World

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime after the end of Sunnydale and after Spike becomes undead again.

Harmony couldn't recall Buffy having a sister, although she could at least see Buffy's fashion influence from Dawn's tacky outfit choice. Figures.

"Now leave before I have someone make you leave."

Dawn didn't have time for security. Didn't have much time at all, actually. So she grabbed the pencil that Harmony was using to dial security's number and shoved it in her shoulder. Dawn didn't want to kill her, just get Harmony the fuck out of her way. 

"I can see the family resemblance, you bitch," the receptionist screeched. 

It took the phone colliding with Harmony's head for the blonde to collapse to the floor. Dawn didn't even spare her a second glance to see if the vampire was really out, before throwing the door open to Angel's office and just…. stop. 

He was there. 

The sun was illuminating him from behind, so she couldn't see the details of his face, but he was wearing a blue sweater and she couldn't breathe. The last time she had seen him, he had gone and been a hero. But here he was, not ashes in the crater of what was Sunnydale and instead undead, but real, and in front of her. 

She couldn't breathe and her head felt as if it was an hourglass and the sand was draining too quickly. Everything felt hot with two pairs of eyes on her, all confused and narrowed, and her own heart beating furiously in her chest. Was this jetlag or was this shock? Or maybe was this the end?

It was Angel that made the first move. 

"Can I help you, miss?" 

Those words seemed to bring the air back deep in her lungs, back to reality, and she looked wildly around the room as she tried to regulate her breath. 

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," she muttered, using both palms to frantically wipe her face of tears that weren't there. 

She felt on the brink of hysteria; she had to calm down. Her hand was still on the doorknob and its cool, hard hold was the only thing keeping her up and giving her strength-making sure she didn't float away- and she knew it was now or never. This was the last important thing she had to do before she could go. Before she could let go. And she was so scared, but he was here now and he was so close she could smell him. 

With all of her attention on the blonde vampire, she swallowed and said the piece she had reversed on the full 13 hours she was on the plane. "Spike. I know-You probably don't know who I am, or rather remember who I am, but I just-I never got to say goodbye the last time, in Sunnydale, so I want to say goodbye now." 

He walked toward her, the light finally catching his face. There were wrinkles between his eyebrows, his blue eyes narrowed like she was a puzzle that he couldn't figure out. He wouldn't. Couldn't. She'd lost too many pieces to ever make the picture clear. 

She took a deep breath, trying to get a hold on herself, before she continued. "I just want to let you know that-

"Dawn?"

Terror filled her body, eyes wide like she saw a ghost. Not possible. NO. With that one word, her handle on the doorknob, on herself, on reality went limp and she felt the hourglass in her head empty. 

\----

 

Her mouth was cotton, her eyes dry and burning, and there was a ringing in her ears that made everything seem too close and too far away at the same time. Everything hurt, it felt as if a car had hit her, but she could feel the constant pressure, the soothing lullaby, of a hand running softly through her hair. It was the nicest luxury she has had in recent weeks. 

She fluttered her eyes, prepared for an instant headache of the bright sun, but was rewarded with nothing but darkness and what felt like a damp washcloth on her forehead. She tensed and made to get up, to try to figure out where the hell she was, but a hand on her arm kept her relaxed. 

"Easy there, pet," Spike's voice crooned in her ear. "You had a nasty fall there."

She felt the panic rise in her chest and she shook her head. No. She had to tell him why she was here. She had say her peace, so she could leave. This was too hard, to be around him but not be able to have him. 

"Spike, please, I just need-" 

Using all the energy she could muster, she sat up and was instantly rewarded with a sharp, blinding pain stabbing her in her skull. She whimpered softly and didn't resist when he gently pushed her back down. 

"Go to sleep, love. I'll be right here when you wake up."

Sleep sounded nice, but frivolous. She hadn't truly slept in months. Hadn't slept since photos of her started flickering in their frames. She felt a dip of the bed and then his arms wrapped around her. She remembered this feeling, curled and wrapped tight in his arms-protected, safe. 

"You promise?" she whispered, her hands clawing at his arms that were wrapped around her, her fingernails biting into his flesh. She had no more uses for promises; it was too dangerous for her sanity and they meant nothing. But in the dark, when she was scared and so very, very alone, it was too hard to be strong. 

"'Til the end of the world."

Dawn squeezed her eyes shut so hard that she saw stars and then she let them take her away. 

\-----

He had yet to say her name again, maybe she had imagined it all, and she knew she looked like a fragile and crazy thing, but there was one of those fried onion blossoms sitting between them. It felt like something important. 

"I'm not real," she said and it was like she was transported to 15 again, breaking into The Magic Box with Spike at her side. Some things never really change, she supposed. "I'm this….world-ending energy that was put into this body that was made from the Slayer, from Buffy, and then forced into Buffy’s life with a bunch of fake memories. And now… now the memories are gone."

The bar was picking up now; she could hear the cracks of the cue ball and people flirting over music. It made her thankful that he had ushered her into this corner booth in the back, a lamp missing two bulbs above them, protecting them from the rest of the world. Her growling stomach had woken them both up, but she couldn't do anymore than pick at the fried onion in front of her until she said what she came to say. Too nerved up. She played with the tiny straw in her drink, spearing the lime wedge at the bottom of the glass. A double whisky ginger and Spike didn't even twitch an eyelid. It was better that way. 

"I guess I was meant to jump instead of Buffy. I was never meant to last this long, so the spells are wearing off. That's why no one can remember me or have any memory of me, and I'm-I'm scared it won't be long until that this vessel, this body, will dissolve too." 

Spike offered his shirtsleeve for tears she didn't even know had fallen, but she pushed him away shy and flustered. She couldn't break down now. She had to be strong. A true Summers' until the end. 

"Buffy. She tried so hard to fix me, but there's nothing to fix. I didn't want to spend my last days like that, you know? I had things I wanted-want- to do. So I said goodbye to everyone-that was, god, that was….hard. Took a connecting flight in England on my way here and went to see Giles and he barely remembered me. And I was hoping I wasn't too late. For you. But…" 

"So it probably doesn't make any sense to you, but with impending death, you just really want to say what you never got to say. And I never got to say that I hope you forgive me. For holding a grudge and not forgiving you when you needed it the most and for letting you think I hated you when you died. I always thought there would be time, you know? For us. But then you died. And then you came back, but I waited too long again. And now we're here and I don't think I will be for that much longer. And I… I couldn't die or vanish or whatever thinking you thought I still hated you. I don't. I mean, it's not like you even remember, but it's important to me because even though things were fucked up with us for a while, we were… good.”

Tears were flowing heavy now and he was looking at her with such intensity that she had to take a breath and look away before she continued. 

"Buffy and Mom were meant to love me, protect me. That was their job, why they sent the Key to them in the first place. But… but no one ever loved me like you did and I just- thank you, for loving me even when-especially when- you didn’t have to."

She felt finished, yet also empty like a hollow drum. That was it. Her last thread, last connection to this world in this human body and it was now severed. There was nothing left for her here. She had said her piece-her peace-and now it was time to go. Seeing him, with no memory of them or her or whatever they had, was breaking her heart and it wasn't like she had much left to break. 

His hand shot out to her wrist as she stood to make her exit and with a simple tug, she was flesh to him. She felt so safe, but any more of this and she wasn't sure she could make it out alive. She was one breath away from breaking down and shattering and she was so scared that if it happened, she'd never be able to put herself back together again. 

"Spike, please…. please. You have to let me go. It's easier this way."

"Never letting you go," he said, as he shook his head and traced the outline of her face. She nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck; seeing the fierceness in his face was too hard. "I don't remember you, but I know who you are, Dawn," he murmured softly against her cheek, stroking her hair. 

Her knees buckled underneath her from his confession, but his strong arms caught her from falling. Nothing made sense and she felt as if she couldn’t breathe again. He wrapped his arms around her tighter and she clung to him by fistfuls of his collar as he repeated the sweetest thing she ever heard-

"Dawn, Dawn, Dawn."

\----

There was a small box in his hands, cardboard and soft, like it had been opened too many times. Her hands were shaking too much to grab it from him, so he placed it on the bed between them. 

"Found these a few weeks back. Bloody awful, the lot of them. After 140 years, you'd think I'd be a master of prose, but..."

She looked up at him with scared, wide eyes. She had barely been able to breathe when he walked her back to his flat, forcefully keeping her mind blank and her emotions numb. He opened the box for her, she was too wary to even begin, and he handed her folded, yellowed letters. She opened one. It seemed to be poems. One titled 'The Sweetest Dawn'. Below it, one named 'Til the End of the World'.

"That's my handwriting, but don't remember writing 'em. Dated just after I could hold a pen again, was a bloody ghost you know."

"What do they say?" she asked, eyeing the papers suspiciously. 

Spike sat down beside her on the bed and gave her a small, toothless smile. 

"The story of us; odes to you. Bout how I failed you; the first time we met; how I wanted to make it up to you but didn't know, didn't deserve to; that no matter what it was still you and me 'til the end of the world."

"Oh," she breathed, overwhelmed and confused. 

The pages felt heavy yet fragile in her hand and she had no idea what they meant. What this meant. Whatever this was. It was too hard to understand it all when his hand around hers felt like an anchor. 

"Couldn't remember any of it. And when I tried to picture Dawn, the person in these poems, I got this black hole in my head. No image, couldn't see you, but could smell you. Smelled sweet and ripe like cherries and fairy floss and-" He took her wrist in his hand and she felt shy as he brought it to his nose. "You do. And then you walked into the Poof's office and all I could smell was fairy floss and I knew you were Dawn."

There was a fluttering of something hard and very, very real in her gut. "I don't understand." 

"It means that even without my memories, I knew who you were. I saw you and knew I loved you." 

She forcefully swallowed, a lump burning in her throat. She was trying not to cry. She was trying not to feel anything, but she was failing. How could he remember when no one else did? Why did he always feel like home? Her tears turned into sobs that left her gasping for air, as if she was suffocating from her own grief. 

"'I bollocksed it up before, but not now, not when it counts." 

He encased her face with his fingers and she tried not to gasp when she looked into his eyes. He was looking at her like she was a soft thing, like he wanted to keep her. It all seemed impossible, improbable, but by God, she wanted nothing more. 

"You and me pet, 'til the end of the world. Nothing less."

\-----

She knew there would come a time when Spike would forget her name and she would cease to exist. That somehow he was her tether to her humanity. She tried to be strong, to not be afraid, and it was easier with him by her side, but she still had nightmares. Sometimes she'd wake up in the middle of the night, gasping for air and sobbing. He would grab for her then, holding her head tight in his hands, and would repeat her name until she woke up from her terror. He hadn't forgotten her. Yet.

One morning after a particularly bad nightmare, one that left her feeling hollow and too young to die, he took her by the hand and he asked her, "Where do you want to be when the world ends?" 

She had a list, a long one filled with everyplace she never had a chance to go, of things she never had a chance to do. But with him looking at her like that-like everything that she had once lost had come back to her- all she could think about was this chance, the one that was right in front of her. 

"I want to be with you." 

He kissed her then, one full of promise, one that meant the whole world. Or at least one that meant until the end of the world. 

“Done.”


End file.
